


Parlous

by anonymousgratification



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Numbness, Stalking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousgratification/pseuds/anonymousgratification
Summary: He doesn't know him anymore.





	Parlous

**Author's Note:**

> I...really have issues with some of the current/ongoing story arcs.  
> Seriously, I hate the Dick forgets everyone and everything story line as much as the next bastard, but my brain pooped this out without my consent.  
> Also, there is no way Dick would lose his memory and Damian would not stalk him or something of that caliber.  
> But, I guess DC's lazy, cheap writing is an opportunity to delve in the miserable, isolated feelings I'm so accustomed to working with. Ha ha. :/  
> Sorry.

He promised himself he wouldn’t. Promised himself he wouldn’t be this pathetic, following Grayson.  Yet, this isn’t the first time. 

Grayson doesn’t even know him— doesn’t remember. Damian thinks maybe it’s better this way. Grayson shouldn’t have the burden of him.

Damian spots him. He almost wants to look away, from this person that he recognizes— but he doesn’t know him, _not anymore,_ not intimately like he did. 

Damian’s affixed on a building, adjacent where Grayson is walking. He’s just _strolling_ , with someone— another person Damian doesn’t want to look at. 

Grayson looks happy, genuinely; no longer with duty and obligation oppressing him.

Damian hates it; tells himself he doesn’t know why. He hates this face on Grayson— carefree, delighted. Grayson looks relaxed. He’s not even looking around, not even thinking that there _could_ be someone watching him. 

Damian doesn’t think he’s ever seen that face, not around him nor directed at him. He feels bitter and angry and _jealous_ , that he couldn’t be what made Grayson feel fulfilled. 

Damian shouldn’t be here. It was an error, a blunder—shadowing Grayson, hoping for something— _being here at all_.

He doesn’t have a name for it, but he wants Grayson to remember him, even if only him. He wants to be special enough to be the only person that Grayson does remember, that he could never forget.

He knows he isn’t. He isn’t special. He’s never been deserving of Grayson, but this just proves it. Grayson’s so happy.

_Without him_.

Damian stands closer and closer to the edge, unable to look away. He just stares at Grayson, but he doesn’t know why; doesn’t know what he’s expecting. He feels like they should be opposite—that Grayson should be the one looking down at him instead. Damian wants to jump over the side, fights the part of his brain that really considers it.

He feels ashamed, thinking about stepping forward—more and more until he drops.

He wants to tell Grayson, most of all. That he can’t… can’t do anything. 

_There’s something wrong with me,_ Damian thinks _,_ sitting down on the ledge, bringing his knees to his chest. His feet fall over a little, but he doesn’t care; can’t even feel the structure under him. 

_I want him, I want him to_ … Damian doesn’t know. He wants Grayson to know him, to care, to love him, _again_. He needs Grayson to tell him what to do. He needs his words and his voice and his presence beside him. 

Damian looks next to him, imagines the outline of Grayson’s body—either Nightwing or Batman—it doesn’t matter. As long as it’s him. 

But, there’s nothing. Nothing but the breeze, occasionally breaking the silence.

Damian wants to die—wants to jump off and feel himself fall; feel the impact as he splatters on the ground.

Nothing matters. Not anymore. Grayson doesn’t want him anymore. He doesn’t remember. _He doesn’t need him_. 

Grayson doesn’t… won’t ever remember the way Damian fought for him, fought with him, _died for him_. 

Grayson shouldn’t matter this much. It should be typical; just another complication in the sort of life they live, but this feels so _wrong_ , so _bad_ , and Damian can’t focus on anything else.

Damian wants to die  _now_  without him. He’s broken.

Damian has no one. No where to go. No one that can help, even though he can’t admit he needs it. Grayson wouldn’t ask, he would just _know_ — know exactly what to say and exactly what to do.

Grayson would hate him. He would hate Damian if he saw him, teetering over the edge, considering pushing himself to the ground because he’s all alone. Damian’s been alone more than he hasn’t, but this time it’s so absolute. No one wants him, no one cares, no one needs him. But, Grayson is different; he does want him. _Did._

Grayson wouldn’t want him now. Damian’s messed up and stumbling and can’t stop. He can’t stop the thoughts, the impulses, the rage inside.

Damian could die, and the only person that would care is hundreds of feet away, fading and looking more and more unfamiliar. 

He wouldn’t even know. 

_What am I supposed to do?_ Damian asks himself inside his head, but he undoubtably wants to ask Grayson. Damian's heart feels dead, like it’s fallen off the building in place of him; bleeding and shattering on the pavement below.

He's desperate. His mind is pleading, repeating, as he looks at Grayson. _Remember me. Remember me. Remember me._

Damian runs his gloved hands through his hair. He yanks a little, trying to force the thoughts out of his head— urges and temptations to hurt someone, to hurt anyone, to hurt _himself_. 

Damian scoffs, standing up. It’s ok. He’s ok. He’s _fine_ — he tells himself, feet still hanging over the edge. He’s a breath, a shift from falling, and for some reason that’s comforting to him. 

He doesn’t look at Grayson anymore, doesn’t even know if Grayson’s still there. He stares at the ground; the cement so far down. 

The wind blows, and Damian wants to let himself blow with it. But, he doesn’t, and he scares himself a little, the way he can’t make up his mind, the way it feels like there are too many conflicting thoughts in his head.

He doesn’t want this— doesn’t want anything. 

He wants to go back. He wants Grayson back. He wants everything to be different.

He wants  _Grayson_ , and it’s the only thing he can think about. 

A gust goes by, and Damian falls backwards onto his ass. He hits the surface hard, and is satisfied that he can feel it; can _finally_ feel  _something_. Damian leans back, laying down. The surface is solid and cold, and he shivers. But  _he’s no longer numb._

He stares up at the stars enveloping the sky. He lifts a hand above himself, childishly thinking he wants to touch them; wondering if he can find the answers there.

Damian clenches his fist in the air, then lowers it.

_It doesn’t matter,_ he tells himself. _It’s better this way._ Grayson’s alive and that’s what’s important.

_It doesn’t matter_ , he tells himself again, ignoring the way he feels like he’s going to cry; feels like he already is.

Damian pushes himself up on his arms, standing up. He swings from the building, catching himself just a bit later than he should.

_He’s fine without him_.


End file.
